“I, Cristie Elena Ferguson, take thee, Ewan Tormod MacKellar, to my wedded husband…”
Ewan gazed at Cristie as she made her vows. The furtive shadows had gone from her eyes. In their place, a soft glow of honesty, trust and love. She spoke without hesitating, though her voice trembled a little.
Once again, he placed a ring on her finger—a small silver band, hastily hammered and shaped that same day by the castle’s blacksmith. Because of her blistered hands, he could only push the ring on partway. But Cristie heaved a sigh, and regarded the meagre trinket as if it was the most precious thing under Heaven.
Ewan hadn’t thought to wed the lass that day, but since Father Iain had arrived to see Ruaidri, he saw no point in delaying the ceremony.
“A miracle and a marriage,” Morag said as they gathered in the great hall later that afternoon. News of Ruaidri’s resurrection must have been carried on the wind, judging by the small army of well-wishers who had been traipsing through the gates since the noon hour. That, in itself, had given rise to added security, since Alastair MacAulay’s whereabouts remained a mystery.
“He wouldnae dare show his face here,” Morag said.
Ewan grunted. “I’d put naught past him, and I dinnae want to take the chance.”
The day had been busy but trouble-free. Ewan had kept a watchful eye on Ruaidri, aware that the man’s spirit was much stronger than his body. Now, as the afternoon wound down, dark shadows sat beneath his brother’s eyes.
“You’ll be retiring to your chamber shortly, Ru,” Ewan said.
Ruaidri gave him a weary smile. “Is that a question or an order?”
“An order. And I’ll no’ hear any argument.”
Ruaidri waggled a brow. “You’ll probably be retiring to yours as well.”
“Aye.” Ewan glanced at Cristie, who sat patiently as Gabriel administered to her wounds.
“I would speak with you beforehand,” Ruaidri continued.
“Och, dinnae trouble yourself,” Ewan said, his tone purposely serious. “I have some idea of what to do. I wasnae always a Templar.”
Ruaidri chuckled and leaned forward. “I wouldnae presume to offer my brother any such advice. ’Tis a different sort of information I wish to pass on.”
“Is that so? I’m intrigued.”
Ruaidri’s eyes flicked to Cristie. “In private,” he murmured.
Ewan frowned. “What’s so private that it must be kept secret from my wife?”
“It willnae be a secret once I’ve shared it with you. After that, you can share it with whomever you wish. ’Tis just that I’d prefer to share it with you in private.”
“Very well.” Ewan rose. “Come on, then, Laird MacKellar. Let’s get you to your bed.”
“Now?”
“Aye, now.”
Ewan turned to Cristie, who gave him a smile that went straight to his heart. The lass still had bruises on her face and likely would for a few days yet. The green robe she’d worn for the ceremony belonged to Morag. And her wedding band was naught but a thin piece of silver that only sat half-way onto her finger. Maybe he should have allowed the lass to heal, arranged for a proper wedding ring, and had some new clothes made for her before he’d married her. Despite all that, she looked far from miserable, but he asked the question anyway.
“Are you happy, mo chridhe?”
“Very happy, Ewan,” she said. “’Tis like I’m floating on air.”
That went straight to his heart as well. “I’ll be back in a wee while, lass.”
She glanced past him at Ruaidri and nodded her understanding.
*
“So,” Ewan said, as they entered Ruaidri’s chamber, “I confess I’m itching to hear about this secret information of yours.”
Frowning, Ruaidri unbuckled his sword belt. “I’ll be glad when I get some meat back on my bones. Everything just falls off me.”
Ewan scratched his chin. “Is that it?”
“Nay.” The bed creaked as Ruaidri clambered onto it and settled back against the pillows. “Oof, I confess I’m ready for a rest.”
“Aye, you’ve overdone it a wee bit today.” Ewan raised his brows. “So, what is it that you cannae say in front of Cristie?”
“’Tis not me who wishes to say it, Ewan,” Ruaidri replied. “’Tis someone else.”
A burning candle atop Ruaidri’s desk crackled, drawing Ewan’s gaze for a moment. “What do you mean?”
Ruaidri also looked toward the candle and gave a soft laugh. “By Odin’s accursed eye. Almost makes me believe the man is still with us.”
“What man?”
“Our father.”
Ewan fidgeted. “I wish he was.”
“That surprises me. You did naught but argue all the time.”
“Aye, I ken. But looking back…” He shook his head. “I have a wee bride waiting for me. Can we maybe do this on the morrow?”
“Nay, we’ll do it now.” He gestured to the desk. “If you run your fingers under the edge on the right side, you’ll feel a wee lever. Pull it toward you. It doesnae take much effort.”
Ewan chuckled. “Secret compartments, Ru?”
“A laird should never be without them.”
Ewan pulled the lever and a small drawer shot out. “There’s a scroll in here.”
“Aye. Remove it and look at the seal.”
He did so, moving into the candlelight to better inspect the circle of blood-red wax. “I dinnae understand,” he said. “This is our father’s seal.”
“I ken it is, Ewan.” Ruaidri smiled. “He always said you’d return one day.”
Ewan’s throat went dry. “Are you saying this is for me?”
Ruaidri nodded. “He asked me to give it to you when you came home. You’ll notice I said ‘when’ and nae ‘if’. Read it here if you wish. Or if you’d rather do so in priv—”
The wax snapped under Ewan’s thumb and he carefully unfurled the scroll. His father’s familiar writing leapt out at him as he sat on the edge of the bed and started to read.
To my son, Ewan Tormod MacKellar.
Written on this ninth day of September
The year of our Lord 1306.
May the Lord have kept you in good health, Ewan.
To me, then, is given the last word, and spoken from the grave, for if you are reading this, then I am gone to the Lord. But, praise His name, you have come home, which means my mortal prayers have been answered.
I find I cannot leave this world peacefully without laying bare my heart. Hence this missive, for there are things I wish to say to you.
Firstly, we are alike, you and I, each with a good measure of pride and stubbornness. How many times did we lock antlers? Too many to count. Have you ever tried to recall what we fought about? I have. And the answers continue to elude me.
I wonder if, like me, you have regrets. If so, then perhaps by sharing mine, I can allay yours. I pray so, for regret is a merciless burden to bear.
I regret not telling you how much I admired your tenacity, your skill with a sword, your horsemanship, your chivalry. You were a knight, Ewan, long before you won your spurs. You made me proud always.
I used to watch you with Morag. The wee lass pestered you constantly, demanding your time and attention. Not once do I recall you losing patience with her. And not once did I commend you for your kindness and tolerance. But I was aware of it. It reminded me of your mother, may God rest her sweet soul.
I know you blame yourself for her death, and use guilt as both sword and shield. And though I never laid blame at your feet… to my eternal shame, I did naught to disarm you. Made no effort to dispel your misplaced guilt. Please forgive me.
Your mother died of childbed fever, but not before she had seen you, held you, and loved you. She is the one who chose your name - Ewan. Named for her grandfather. You are not responsible for her death. If blame must be placed at all, place it with me, for you came from my seed.
I regret letting you leave without trying to make amends, may my pride be damned. But of all the things I did and should not have done, of all the things I said and should not have said, my biggest regret is not telling you how much I loved you.
’Tis not always easy for a man to say what lies in his heart. To profess such sentiment is oft seen as weakness, better left to poets, bards and women. But I can tell you, Ewan, that when a man faces death, all that remains to be said seeks freedom.
For some, there is never enough time. For others, it is already too late.
So, I am giving freedom to what lies in my heart now, while I still have time, and I pray my words will find you before it is too late.
I love you, my son. I always have, and I always will.
Your father,
Calum Ruaidri MacKellar.
Ewan raised tear-filled eyes to Ruaidri. “I dinnae ken what to say.”
“I do, if it isnae too late to say it.” Ruaidri held out a hand. “Welcome home, my brother.”